


flex

by leiascully



Series: I Like You Under My Skin [8]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fingerfucking, M/M, Romance, Safer Sex, best bros, engaged to be engaged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil likes to take it slow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sabinelagrande](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/gifts).



> Timeline: post-movie AUish (written pre-movie, not canon-compliant with some SPOILERY events in the movie)  
> A/N: For sabinelagrande on the anniversary of her birth.  
> Disclaimer: _The Avengers_ and all related characters are property of Marvel Studios  & Joss Whedon. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

Clint is astonished by how much he likes the certainty of his relationship with Phil. He doesn't even care if Phil beats him to the punch of proposing, really. It's enough to know that eventually one of them will ask, and the other will say yes. It's not enough to keep him from making plans, though. 

"I know what you're thinking," Natasha says, sprawling on his couch as he surfs the internet. Clint still has his quarters in the Tower. He doesn't spend much time here, but then, he never really did. "For the record, tying the ring to an arrow and shooting it at him would _not_ be romantic. It would be terrifying. This is coming from me, remember. I put up with projectiles hurtling toward me for a living. I guess Coulson does too, some of the time, but he's never really seemed to enjoy it."

"I'd aim very carefully," Clint said.

Natasha snorted. "Whatever. The stupid thing would probably catch on your rest and your shot would go God knows what direction."

"It would have worked out," Clint insists, but his heart isn't in it. That wasn't really his plan anyway, but it's best to humor Natasha.

"Are you nervous?" Natasha asks. "I'd be nervous. If I wanted to get married. Which I don't."

"No," Clint says.

"You're lying," Natasha tells him. 

He is and he isn't. On the one hand, even if he's certain that Phil wants all of this to continue as much as he does, it's a little bit like toeing the edge of a cliff. Til death do us part is a concept that gains immediacy when you superhero for your living. It's the prospect of losing a husband that makes the idea of having a husband so terrifying. 

"It's just Phil," he says at last. "It's just some words and a piece of paper. Otherwise, everything will be the same. We basically live together already, I mean, as much as we probably ever will. It's not like I'd make him move into the tower."

"Seriously," Natasha says. "You U-Hauled it. It's like that joke about the lesbians' second date. I mean, you don't have enough stuff to fill a U-Haul. But that's pretty much what happened."

"Whatever," Clint says. "It works."

"Lucky you," Natasha tells him, and for a fraction of a second, Clint thinks she sounds wistful. But then she goes on, "It's so sweet I might throw up."

"That sounds more like the assassin I know and...well, know," he says.

"I'll get you for that later," she says with no particular menace, but if Clint knows anything, it's that Nat never forgets. He shrugs to himself. One day there'll be a day of reckoning when Nat decides to settle all her old scores, but it's not today. Which is good, frankly; he doesn't have time to be her right hand today. He's too busy scouring the internet for plain, discreet, sustainably-sourced rings that still have some personality, something he never thought he'd be doing in a million years. You don't expect much out of life when you don't have much life expectancy.

The alarm goes off, calling them to the situation room. "Shit," Nat says, and rolls to her feet. Clint bookmarks the page and they're out the door, off to save the world.

\+ + + + 

It's a routine mission, some idiot genius with an AI fighting machine that turns out to like puns more than it likes explosions. They only really needed Tony, but hey, it's not the Avengers if they're not assembled, and the Avengers are what the public clamors for. Clint misses the days it was just him and Phil or just him and Natasha, out on the road or undercover, no PR team. On the other hand, he's always been a sucker for applause, and the crowd always goes wild these days. Fury sends Hill to debrief them and tell them to stay close, which everybody but Tony agrees to. The rest of them slip away as Tony starts listing the reasons he's not giving up his trip to Hong Kong for Nick Fury or anybody else. Clint's just glad of the chance to strip out of his sweaty uniform. New York's no fun in the summer and his high perches don't have shade. 

He takes the elevator up to his floor - he needs a shower before anything else. The hot water feels amazing, and when he steps out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel, Phil is there.

"Hey," he says, his eyes crinkling in that special Coulson smile that makes Clint feel like he's wrapped in a warm fuzzy blanket on Christmas Eve watching the snow drift down outside. Phil does this to him, makes him sentimental, but he doesn't mind too much. Besides, he likes feeling that way all year round.

"Hey," Clint says. "I thought you'd be up to your elbows in paperwork."

Phil shrugs. "We've got it down to an art by now." He stepped closer. "Plus, I delegated."

"You?" Clint says in disbelief.

"They can't always have me holding their hand. Plus, I thought it might be time for another long lunch," Phil says, taking another step. Clint meets him in the center of the room. Phil smiles again and slips his fingers under the edge of Clint's towel. 

"I'm pretty hungry," Clint says.

"Good," Phil says, and kisses him. Clint pushes back against him, loving the solid way that Phil just stands there, braced against Clint's not-inconsiderable strength. Phil's so much more than just a suit. Clint is grateful every day that more people haven't taken the time to figure that out. He doesn't want the alarm to be for him one day, because he's snapped out of righteous jealousy and is menacing every person who's ever shown even the slightest interest in Phil. It would be an embarrassment to be taken down by his teammates over his relationship, and even worse because Natasha would enjoy the hell out of subduing him.

"Barton," Phil murmurs. "Come back to me." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a latex glove. 

"Yes," Clint says immediately.

"Good," Phil says. "I like that I don't even have to explain."

Clint gives Phil a look that he hopes is withering. "I didn't fall off the queer truck yesterday, Phil. I have been fucked before. With more than fingers, I'll have you know."

"I like to take it slow," Phil murmurs.

Phil, as it turns out, takes it exquisitely, excruciatingly slow. He teases Clint for what feels like hours, until Clint is so drunk with pleasure that he barely knows which end is up. Phil's lips ghost over his cock, just the slightest breath of pressure, and Phil's well-lubed fingertips just barely graze the sensitive skin of Clint's ass. Clint shivers and grunts, wanting more and more, but Phil's incredible patience and Phil's incredible stubbornness go hand-in-hand, and there's no way Phil's going any faster than he wants to, no matter how Clint writhes under him, trying to push himself down on Phil's fingers. Phil's other forearm clamps down over Clint's hips like steel, holding him down on the bed. Clint's cock is so hard that it's aching, and he's flexing his toes just to try to relieve some of the agonizingly amazing tension drawing his whole body tight.

"I thought," he grits out. "I thought you were gonna fuck me, not just play around."

"Oh, is that what you wanted?" Phil says mildly, his cheek brushing Clint's cock as he says the words, and he slides one finger into Clint.

"Fuck," Clint says. He's pretty tight and even just one finger is incredible. Phil's fingers aren't the longest, but they're long enough and extremely capable, just like the rest of Phil. He finds Clint's prostate with unerring aim and Clint can't help his hips jerking. Phil grins and takes Clint's cock into his mouth, and then Clint's really gone. Pleasure smashes over him like a strong wind in a high place, carrying him away. He's utterly at the mercy of Phil's clever fingers and Phil's clever tongue; if he could form real words, he'd probably be begging for more, for Phil never to stop, for the two of them to stay right here for the rest of their lives, except that then he'd never get to return the favor. Phil eases another finger inside of him and Clint feels himself stretching to accommodate Phil, sort of the way they always bend and flex to fit each other, only a hell of a lot more fun than picking up the right brand of doughnuts or covering each other's weak sides in a bad situation. 

Clint glances down his body at Phil and Phil's eyes are closed. He's smiling dreamily as he sucks Clint's cock and fuck, it's almost enough to bring Clint off all by itself, seeing how goddamn much Phil likes doing what he's doing. He reaches over his head and fists his hands in his pillow. His body's drawing as tight as his bow string in anticipation. Clint groans. 

"Phil," he says in warning, but Phil just bears down harder, lapping at the head of Clint's cock with his tongue and stroking Clint's prostate with his fingers. Clint's caught between the two points of pleasure, quivering in anticipation and anchored by Phil's body. He thrusts gently into Phil's mouth, trying to bear down further on Phil's fingers, yearning for that fullness and the liquid heat of Phil's mouth. He feels like an arrow ready to loose. Phil draws him on and on, caressing, urging, demanding that Clint come and Clint rarely disobeys an order from Phil, even one unspoken. He groans as he comes into Phil's mouth, his body shaking and his spirit soaring. Phil swallows him down, not budging until Clint stills, sprawled boneless over the bed. Then he raises his head, licks his lips, and carefully pulls out his fingers, tossing the glove into the trash. He slides up next to Clint and leans down for a long, sweet kiss that has Clint's toes curling again.

"Let me return the favor," Clint says muzzily, trying to pull Phil down against him.

"Later," Phil promises. "No one will believe lunch took that long. Some of us are chained to the desk. Tonight?"

"Tonight," Clint says. "Tomorrow. Any day. Every day."

Phil chuckles. "Forever?"

"Yes," Clint says. "But you better not fucking be proposing right now, because you can't ask me to marry you while I'm naked."

"And here I thought you'd appreciate a cock ring for our engagement," Phil says dryly. "Back to the drawing board." He kisses Clint again. "Get some rest. You might need it."

"You're all talk," Clint complains, but he's asleep before Phil's even dressed, a smile on his face.


End file.
